


Ticket to Ride: Drabbles Etc, inspired by lyrics

by apple_pi



Category: Hetty Wainthropp Investigates, Taggart (TV), The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 15:48:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7444852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple_pi/pseuds/apple_pi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble sets based on song lyrics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ticket to Ride: Drabbles Etc, inspired by lyrics

**Author's Note:**

> Many sets of small ficlets, based on requests from other people (they requested the pairings, the, ah, smut levels, etc) and song lyrics. All LOTRPS, one (Taggart/Hetty Wainthropp) crossover.

Viggorlando, 100 words, PG-15 (language). "Ticket to Ride," the Beatles: _Think I'm gonna be sad, I think it's today, yeah._

 

Orlando curses and laughs, tears streaking down his cheeks. "Bloody buggering fuck," he mutters. He tries again, only to swear and drop his hands to the counter. He bends his head and sighs. "I hate contact lenses." 

"Let me."

Orlando shivers, eyes fastened on the stained ceiling of the trailer as Viggo's thick, careful finger nears his eye. "Fuck," Orlando breathes skittishly, but Viggo's other hand cups his cheek, thumb smoothing across the bone, and he stills.

When he looks into the mirror again, one eye is blue, the other brown, and Viggo is looking over his shoulder, smiling slightly.

~*~

Monaboyd, 150 words, PG. "With or Without You," U2: _See the stone set in your eyes, see the thorn twist in your side._

 

Dom's standing on the pocket-sized balcony, a cigarette between two fingers, his mobile forgotten in the other hand. Billy steps outside, leaving the door open behind himself. "Alright?"

"Hmm?" Dom blinks, eyes flicking into focus, and he smiles at Billy. "Yeah, just script changes. Nothing exciting. You bored?"

"Nah." Billy leans against the rail, facing Dom. "Gimme a drag?"

Dom hands over the fag and Billy's lips purse around it, a plume of smoke drifting into the thick air. "Let's go inside," he says when they've passed the cigarette back and forth a few more times, fingers brushing; Dom nods and stubs it out in a potted plant.

They step into the dim chill of the hotel room, not touching. Dom pulls the glass closed and then draws the heavy curtains, closing out the California day, enclosing the two of them in artificial dusk.

There are cameras everywhere, these days.

~*~

Jamie/Geoffrey, 150 words, PG. "Your Song," Elton John: It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside.

 

"Have you ever kissed a boy before?"

You're thinking about it, lips pursed around the words, and I see the word _kissed_ (lower lip drawn down briefly, teeth clicking together) shape itself three times before you answer me aloud: "I've never kissed anyone, Geoffrey Shawcross. Have you?"

"Never anyone like you," I say, and smile at the top of your head; you've ducked away, hand fluttering at your throat, but a minute later your gaze skitters across mine and you're happy, though your face wears nothing so simple as a smile. 

Your fingers reach out to touch my lips (again), and you trace a line from my lower lip to my throat, hesitating at my adam's apple, fingertip resting, finally, in the notch between my collarbones. 

"Never anyone like me," you echo, and I nod and you kiss me again, or I kiss you. It doesn't seem to matter, now.

~*~

Dom/Viggo, 200 words, R. "Once in a Lifetime," Talking Heads: _You may find yourself living in a shotgun shack._

 

Dom is always cold. He wears two pairs of socks and stuffs his feet into Viggo's slippers, shuffling around the cabin. Long underwear under his jeans, and above, t-shirt and jumper. The jumper sleeves are too long; he pulls his hands inside them, ragged ends flopping as he talks, gesticulating wildly, mostly telling Viggo _turn up the fucking heat, idiot_ or, when Dom is huddled in a corner of the couch, as close to the iron stove as he can get, a blanket round his shoulders: _tea, goddammit, I need tea_. Viggo just grins and pads around barefoot, soles of his feet grey with dust from the smooth wooden floors, and he hands Dom his tea (Dom cradles it in jumper-clad hands) and after a while, after the teacup is empty and Dom has subsided into contented, half-cranky silence, Viggo comes back and crawls over him, smothering him, grinning and sliding his blunt, icy fingers into the crevices where Dom's layers reveal slices of skin. _You know you love it_ , Viggo growls as Dom curses and struggles, and Dom gets one hand down Viggo's trousers (nothing icy there, nosirree) and smirks. _Maybe_ , he says, and lets Viggo warm him.

~*~

"Hardcore" Billijah, 460 words (cheating pays, apparently), NC-17. "One of These Days," Emmylou Harris: _I won't have to chop no wood; I can be bad or I can be good._

 

"Just fucking do it," Billy hissed; Elijah bit his lower lip and did—pushed in, unable to stop the rough groan spilling from his throat. "Fuck," Billy gasped, and Elijah stopped, halfway in, glad for the condom—at least it made it less likely that he'd blow his wad in the next thirty seconds. 

"Tight," Elijah managed, and Billy nodded. "Should I stop?"

"No." Billy shivered (Elijah groaned as his muscles tightened around his dick), and moved awkwardly, setting his knees a little further apart. "Do it. Get it over with."

Elijah swallowed. "Yeah." He gripped Billy's hips (slippery with sweat) and shoved in further, ignoring Billy's sharp inhale, his own eyes fluttering closed at the heat, the grip, the _idea_ of it—his cock, Billy's ass, nothing but the thin skin of latex separating them. "God," he moaned, and began to move, slow and as gentle as he could... considering.

"Better," Billy mumbled after a minute, and Elijah grunted in reply, moving faster.

"Jerk off," he ordered hoarsely, and Billy groaned and shifted, balancing on his knees and one hand as he reached under himself to grasp at his cock. Elijah could feel the change, feel Billy's ass release its grip slightly, feel the muscles of his back smooth as he relaxed. "Yeah, that's good," Elijah said, "do it, Billy, do it, come on—" He felt his orgasm start coiling in his belly, his balls tightening. "I'mma—oh, fuck, Billy, I'm too close, I'm, ah—"

Billy's body shook with the furious slap of his hand on his cock, out of sight beneath his body, and Elijah heard him curse and demand that Elijah wait, wait, fucking _wait_ , goddammit, but it was too late: Elijah threw his head back and let it happen, let himself come, shoot, thrust until there was nothing left to give.

"Fucker, fucking _fucker_ ," Billy rasped; Elijah held himself up, inside Billy, and whimpered as he felt Billy's orgasm ripple through his body, squeeze his exhausted dick: tight enough to force him out, and he slipped free with a breathless laugh as Billy groaned and shot onto the mattress below his body.

They collapsed side by side, Billy whining protest as his stomach splatted into the small puddle of spunk; Elijah laughed again, still breathing hard. "That wasn't so bad," he panted, and Billy turned his head to glare at him from one squinting eye.

"Don't make me cut you," he wheezed, deadpan, and Elijah snickered.

"With what, your razor-sharp _wit?_ 'Fucking fucker'? What the hell was that?"

Billy rolled onto his side, facing Elijah and swiping distractedly at his belly. "Blood flow wasn't exactly concentrated in the northern regions of my body," he drawled, and they both began laughing at the same moment.

~*~

Billijah. 200 words, PG-13. "There's a Touch," The Proclaimers: _There's a touch upon my lips left by memory's fingertips._

 

They always said he was a girl, and Elijah supposed that was why they all kissed him: Orlando, Ian, Viggo and Dom, Sean (both of them, Astin many times) and Billy. Orlando and Dom had both been laughing, and he remembered their kisses that way: messy and open and fun. Ian had kissed him gently on the lips one night, and sent him off home looking somewhat pensive. Viggo had kissed him with unabashed enthusiasm; Elijah swore he could taste Viggo's toothpaste for a week. Sean Bean had licked his ear and then kissed him quickly and pushed him into a snowdrift. Sean Astin kissed him like a brother, a keeper, a best friend, and neither of them questioned it. Billy, though: Elijah pressed his fingers to his mouth long after Billy was gone, feeling the imprint of those curving, delicate lips, tasting Billy's tongue, warm through from the warmth of it, and from Billy's hands on his waist. Billy's mouth was prettier than Elijah's, and Elijah felt it longer than he'd ever felt any girl's mouth against his. Billy's mouth was pretty, but Billy wasn't a girl, and Elijah didn't know if he was glad about that or not.

~*~

Dom/Bean, 200 words, NC-17. "Borderline," Madonna: _Something in the way you love me won't let me be._

 

Sean's fingers are thick and blunt and not all that kind: inexperienced but fearless, oddly enough. Dom thinks of Viggo's (also) thick, certain fingers as Sean breaches him, and (in contrast) Billy's smaller, narrower digits. It's Sean behind him, inside him, though, and the comparisons shred and fade when Sean wraps one meaty arm about his chest, the other around his cock; his fingers are sticky with lube. "Ready, there?" Sean asks, and Dom nods and gasps through the quick, merciless burn of Sean's cock pushing into his arse. "Feels nice, tight, fuck, hmm…" Viggo's accent is flatter, Billy's more lilting, and Sean's voice, as he grunts and begins to move (hand hips cock mouth) is all his own, and familiar as home to Dom: Sheffield and roughness and ah fuck—Dom lets his head fall back onto Sean's shoulder and stops thinking, stops expecting anything but what he has.

~*~

Monaboyd, 200 words, rated G. "Bridge Over Troubled Waters," Simon & Garfunkel: _When you're weary, feeling small..._

 

"What was it?" Billy clambers onto Dom's lap on the sofa. "That phone call you got earlier."

"Just—" Dom stops. "My gran, she was sick when I left, and yesterday she, uh, she died." The word is bare and harsh and Dom looks shocked, a little, at hearing it come out of his own mouth; his eyes drop, lashes concealing his expression, and he leans forward to rest his face against Billy's shoulder.

"Ach, Dom, 'm'sorry." Billy shifts around until Dom's face is against his chest and his arm is around Dom's shoulders. "That's a sad thing."

"Yeah." His voice is strained. "They didn't call me until today. They said they didn't want to wake me."

Billy makes a sound—sympathy, sadness, and touches Dom's hair briefly. 

"I said goodbye to her, before I left," Dom adds. He lifts his head and his eyes and nose are red. "But they should have called last night. They should have woken me up."

"I know." Billy meets his eyes steadily, and his arm tightens around Dom. 

"Thanks," Dom says, and presses his face into Billy's chest again. His arms creep around Billy's waist and they sit that way for a while.

~*~

Monaboyd + Craig Ferguson (the person who picked this is _so_ mean, lol), 170 words, R at least. "I'm on my Way," Rich Price: _If I lift my head from this bed of stars..._

 

"You're such a slut—ooh, fuck, do that again."

"Mmm."

"Yeah, just like that. Mm. Oh—oh—what the fuck?"

"Turn around, s'been a while since we shagged in a dressing room."

"Dom, I don't—uhnnnn... okay..."

"There you go. Look in that mirror, baby, want you to see it—"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—"

"Yeah—tell me what you see, Bill—"

"You, y'look so—ah, god, so good—"

"Mmm, feel good, you feel so good, tell me more, tell me—"

"Dom!"

"Yeah, mm, Bills—"

"—the door Dom the door you didn't fucking _lock the door?!?_ "

"Oh, don't mind me, boys. I'm just here to watch."

...

...

"You Scots are a pervy bunch, aren't you?"

"Yep." "Ehm..."

"In that case... Alright there, Bill?"

"I think I need to be distracted."

"Lucky for you, we Brits are perverts, too."

"I knew that already."

"Me, too."

"Listen, Ferguson, you're going to have to shut it if you want to watch."

"Understood, understood."

"Dom...?"

"Yeah. Here we go, then."

~*~

Monaboyd, comfort fic, 300 words, PG-13. "When You Give It Away," Bruce Cockburn (pronounced, sadly, "Coe-burn"): _Slid out of my dreams like a baby out of the nurse's hands onto the hard floor of day._

 

"Mmm." 

"Wake up, Bills."

A hand stroked over his hair and Billy startled and sat up, wiping hastily at his mouth. "Whassat?"

"You're so cute when you drool all over yourself." Dom was smirking, his eyes unguarded, and Billy squinted at him for a moment, then smiled slowly.

"Part of my fiendish plan to seduce you with cuteness."

Dom grinned. "Very fiendish, the cuteness. And working like a charm."

"It always does." Billy rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Soon I'll add you to my list of conquests."

"Me and little Vera Hinkley from down the way." Dom snickered, and Billy swatted his head. 

"Vera was a lovely lass, I'll have you know," he said. "What did you wake me up for, eh? I was dreaming of her."

Dom pursed his lips. "I'm going to be pissed off if you say her name in your sleep."

Billy pulled him forward and kissed him quickly on the lips. "She scares easy; I'm sure you can chase her away." He frowned past Dom's head at the open door of the trailer. "Why _did_ you wake me up?"

A new voice cut in. "Excuse me, fellas? If you don't get your hobbity arses onto set in about ten seconds, I think Rick's going to pop a vein." The runner ducked back out and Billy and Dom looked at each other.

"I liked your way of waking me up better," Billy sighed, standing and offering Dom a hand. 

"Much nicer," Dom said, accepting the help up. "But the real question is, nicer than Vera Hinkley?"

"Oh, much nicer." Billy stepped out into the sunlight, blinking and waving to the director as they hurried toward the set. "She only ever threw paper at me, really."

"Ha." Dom grinned and pinched Billy's bottom surreptitiously. "I knew it."

~*~

Orlando/Elijah, bad!sex, 135 words, R. "She's No Lady," Lyle Lovett: _She hates my mama, she hates my daddy, too._

 

Elijah finally lifted his head from the pillow when he heard Orlando's breathing even out. "Orli?" he whispered, but there was no reply, and when he looked more closely, he could see that the other man was already asleep, dark lashes curling over his high cheekbones; moonlight lay along his skin and Elijah choked back a growl. Just fucking figured: God as lighting director for fucking Orli.

He shifted and sat up in bed, wincing and cursing to himself, not too quietly—serve the bastard right if he woke up. But Orlando (of course) just turned over, settling onto his back with the perfect light washing across his perfect features at a yet-more-perfect angle.

"I oughta jerk off on his fucking face," Elijah muttered, and hobbled off to the bathroom to do it there instead.

~*~

Monaboyd smutty smut, something from the video of their week in the South Island house alone; 275 words, NC-17. "Heart & Soul," Huey Lewis and the News: _Two o’clock this morning, if she should come a calling, I couldn’t dream of turning her away._

 

There were certain things Billy had once told himself he would never do on camera; having sex was definitely one of them. Not that the makers of fine (or bad, for that matter) porn films had been ringing him, but. It was one of those things that drama students talked about, and Billy had laughed and denied that he would: A nude scene here and there, sure, a good steamy love scene, certainly—and he'd enjoy them. But sex? As in, pornography? No, thank you. 

And yet here he was, face in the pillow, arse in the air, and Christ alone knows what kind of footage Dom was getting with the little handheld camera, as there was quite a lot of movement, what with the thrusting and all, and Billy wondered briefly if the camera had one of those built-in whaddayacallems, stabilizers, and then he stopped wondering anything at all, because Dom slapped his arse and laughed.

"Come on, Bills, let's get that right hand moving," he panted, and Billy couldn't see it (face in the pillow, still), but he was reasonably sure Dom had put the camera somewhere that it would have an unimpeded view of his right hand, should he ever, in fact, go about getting himself off while Dom pounded his arse (so very satisfactorily). 

Billy sighed and wriggled about till he could get a good grip on his cock. "Jesus fuck," he muttered into the fabric, "bad enough having to take direction on set." But he wasn't really complaining, and Dom probably knew it, judging by the sound of his breathless laughter and, just a moment or three later, his moans.

~*~

Monaboyd shower!sex, 400 words, NC-17. "No More I Love Yous," Annie Lennox: _I used to be a lunatic, from the gracious days_...

 

"Too tired," Billy whimpered, and Dom pulled him into the bathroom. 

"Let me?" he said, and Billy nodded, lips curving up.

He let Dom: undress him like an unwieldy doll, lifting his arms and nudging at his feet until Billy shivered, nude; Dom undressed himself quickly and moved them both into the shower, turning on a fine, hot spray so they both sighed with satisfaction.

Dom washed him, hands slippery as they traveled Billy's body: rubbing gently at his scalp, sliding over his belly and arms and back, special attention paid to his bits. Billy swayed, eyes closed, humming a little as Dom worked, smiling and opening his eyes as he felt himself stiffen in Dom's hand—the curl of warm, wet fingers around his cock, another hand flat and gentle on his waist.

"Let me," Dom said, soft and persuasive, and Billy nodded; Dom turned him.

Dom stood behind him, arms around him, reaching down to pull his prick with certainty and care. Billy let his wet head fall back onto Dom's shoulder and closed his eyes, hands lax at his side as Dom stroked, stroked, stroked, chin resting on Billy's shoulder as he looked over it and down at his work; his cock nudged at Billy's bottom, hardening, and Billy liked that, too, along with the hiss of water and the steam rising around them and the slick press of Dom's body all along his back.

When Billy came it was with a murmurous rush, a hitch of the air in his lungs, a small noise of pleasure and satiation as Dom gentled him, massaged him through it to the other side, holding him up, crooning wordless encouragement and want into his skin.

"Bed?" Dom said, and Billy lifted his head with an effort, blinking the water from his lashes, turning to kiss Dom and ask him, with an eyebrow, if he needed anything. "I'm fine," Dom replied, smiling; his hand curved around the back of Billy's neck. "I'll be fine in a minute," he clarified, his smile sharpening into a grin, and Billy laughed silently and kissed him again, one weary hand slipping down, fingers twining with Dom's as Dom brought himself to completion, his free hand tightening on Billy's nape as he exhaled, shaking until it was through. "Bed," he repeated when his sleepy eyes opened again, and Billy kissed his red mouth.

"Bed," he agreed.

~*~

Billijah (it made me throw Dom in there, sorry), 375 words, R-ish. "The Beautiful Occupation," Travis: _Don't just stand there, watching it happening._

 

When they ask him, it takes Elijah a good thirty seconds to figure out what they mean. Possibly the most embarrassing thirty seconds of his life, he thinks when he _does_ get it, because as any actor who's ever made a commercial can tell you, thirty seconds is a very long time: long enough for Dom's face to go from smirking and assured to uncertain; long enough for Billy's face to turn the same colour as the cherry-red drinks Orlando is forever swilling. 

Elijah gapes and feels his own face begin to burn; he's desperate to salvage the moment. "Yes," he says, stutters, and then looks down. "I mean... yes. But I've never. I mean... how...?" When he looks up at them again they’re observing him with identically cocked heads, and suddenly Elijah hates them a little, wants to snap something about _interchangeable backup hobbits_ and knows his frustrated fear is showing, because Dom smiles. 

"You can start by just watching, if you want," he offers, and Billy glances sharply at him, but Dom communicates something silently to him, and after a moment, he nods, meeting Elijah's gaze again.

"Okay," Elijah whispers; his anger abandons him as he sits hunched on the couch beside them, watching Dom and Billy kiss. He wonders which one of them he wants to kiss first—Dom, with that tongue? Billy, with those lips? They kiss each other gorgeously, greedily, and Elijah can't move, can't think how to interrupt, even though he wants to now, wants to kiss _someone_ , doesn't care who.

Billy opens his eyes, fastens them on Elijah even as Dom is still plundering his mouth. His hand leaves Dom's thigh, reaches for Elijah, and Elijah leans forward as Billy pulls his mouth from Dom's and leans across him. "Just going to watch all night?" Billy says, grinning, and Elijah shakes his head.

So it's Billy he kisses first, their mouths meeting in front of Dom's face, and Elijah hears Dom's approving noise just as Billy's clever tongue slips into his mouth; he closes his eyes and falls into the kiss, feels Billy's deft, warm fingers squeeze his own nervous, sweaty hand as Dom's warmer, larger hand strokes up his back, over his shirt, making him shiver.

~*~

Dom/Orli, 130 words, PG-15? "Car Wheels on a Gravel Road," Lucinda Williams: _Sitting in the kitchen, my house in Macon, Loretta singing on the radio. ___

"This is so wrong." Dom sipped at his tea and regarded Orlando across the kitchen table with sleepy eyes. 

Orli stopped chewing and looked up at him, eyes wide and guileless. He swallowed and spoke: "What's so wrong about it?"

"Elves and hobbits, mate," Dom said. "S'against the laws of God and man."

Orlando smirked. "Isn't two men shagging against the laws of God and man?"

"Only if you listen to arseholes," Dom replied with a snort. He stood up and walked around to stand behind Orli, warm hands settling onto his bare shoulders. "Shall we go flaunt the laws again?"

Orlando took one more bite of his breakfast and nodded, standing, turning to face Dom, whose hands slid easily around to loop about his neck. "Yeah, let's do it."

~*~

Monaboyd comfort fic, 175 words, R-ish. "Washing of the Water," Peter Gabriel: _River, river, carry me on._

 

Dom muttered quietly to himself, making a face as he struggled out of his wetsuit. Billy was already nude, his body pale as he bounded into the house, laughing. Dom followed a moment later, leaving the black rubber thrown hastily over the rack in the garage, teeth chattering. Billy approached with a towel, warm and dry, and he patted at Dom's skin, wrapping him up and pulling him close, kissing his nose. Dom shivered as his wet hair dripped onto his bare shoulders, and Billy grabbed his hand, pulling him further, their feet leaving wet prints on the lino and then the carpet in the hall; the bathroom was steamy already, shower running, and Dom sighed with relief as they clambered into the shower, jostling for the hot water. Billy's neck tasted of salt and then fresh water and then—Dom sputtered—soap; Billy laughed again and slipped his hands around Dom's waist, leaving soapy trails; their hips bumped and then pressed, and it was Dom's turn to laugh, when Billy gasped into his mouth.


End file.
